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by bottomsupkids



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomsupkids/pseuds/bottomsupkids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinobi are, by nature, tough, unhappy people.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> i was all of a sudden, wanting to write some sad stuff? sorry. at this point, i don't even care about spelling or grammatical mistakes. they're probs there.

Shinobi are, by nature, tough, unhappy people. Their unhappiness comes in different forms, so it is not always easy to spot. Some of these variations are the stoic type—these shinobi feel nothing. They have seen too much and have stopped acknowledging their emotions for fear of the onslaught that would come with. Another type is the psychotic shinobi—someone who has given up trying to understand the ways of normal behavior, and have allowed themselves to deteriorate into madness. Then there are those that are just simply sad . . . and perhaps their sadness does not control them forever, but it never leaves. Sadness has a way of disguising itself as other emotions like fear, or even the tantalizing feeling of being _happy_.

But Iruka wasn’t an unhappy person—his sadness was . . . there, yes, the loss of his parents would always haunt him . . . but he had Naruto, and he had watched Naruto become the Hokage. There were his students—an endless stream of bright smiles and big plans, both of which were inspiring. Really, there was little else _to_ Iruka’s life . . . he thought no deeper into the meaning of his existence partly because he was at peace with it—even if he wasn’t consciously aware of that—and partly because he was so expressive with his emotions. Iruka had experienced pain and suffering just as all shinobi had, but he’d come to terms with it long ago, and allowed his personality to flow on.

In his old age, Iruka had come to see the different types of _unhappiness_ in other shinobi. Part of him was sure he’d always been able to tell, but he had never understood it until recently. Kakashi was one of the stoic types, and Iruka wondered what was beneath the lack of emotion that dominated the jounin’s surface. Kakashi cared . . . cared about the Leaf Village, his former students, he cared about his lost comrades and probably his father, too—though Iruka had never encountered that side of Kakashi before. Regardless, you could never tell unless you _knew_ Kakashi, and Iruka didn’t really.

Iruka was sure Kakashi knew he was there, but if he did, he said nothing. Tentatively, the teacher took a few steps forward, halting briefly every now and then until he was standing beside Kakashi, following the man’s gaze down unto the gravestone. This singular memorial was dedicated to all the fallen shinobi that had been lost in combat. Kakashi’s eyes traveled to more than one name but he said nothing, and other than the flicker of them—no longer mismatched—he didn’t move. Iruka looked up at the slightly older man’s face—dampened with hints of time and stress, but no less handsome than it had been all the years ago when they had met, even if it was mostly hidden by the mask.

Iruka wanted to know everything, wanted to listen to Kakashi tell his life story and everything that had happened—from the time he graduated at the Academy, to this very second, with the two of them standing side by side, under the clouds of a storm that was bound to roll in within any minute—but he couldn’t; he couldn’t ask that of Kakashi, because he didn’t _know_ him. Should he have asked, Kakashi would most likely have straight-up refused to say _anything_ to him—now, or ever again. Iruka didn’t want that.

“You would think that after all these years, it would get easier,” the jounin finally said, aware that Iruka was looking at him, but not having the courage to meet his gaze. Kakashi didn’t know what Iruka would be able to see from his eyes and . . .

“It never gets easier.” The brunette replied, which stilled Kakashi’s words and his eyes.

 _Obito Uchiha_. In the end, Kakashi had had to watch his friend die twice, and that wound was one that would never be able to heal. Breathing was suddenly harder than it had been and Kakashi wanted to blame it on his old, tired lungs, but he knew that it was because he was feeling a sadness he had long since suppressed. There was no power in him to speak; to reply to Iruka’s words, and even if there was . . . what would he say?

This was too much, but Kakashi couldn’t leave just yet and he knew that. Maybe it was because he had something he wanted to say, but Kakashi wasn’t good with talking—which is why he carried a book around with him; why he wore a mask—and he never had been, even as a child in the Academy. That could’ve been his father’s fault, but he wouldn’t blame him, because it was up to _Kakashi_ and _Kakashi alone_ to have the power to speak when he felt that he couldn’t.

“It would be if you weren’t given so much time to think on your mistakes.”

“Ignoring and coping are not the same things, Kakashi. I think you spend a lot more time ignoring than you do coping.” Iruka replied, placing his hand on the jounin’s shoulder. Kakashi didn’t flinch, but he felt himself wanting to recoil away from the warmth of his friend’s palm. A reclusive person would have turned away and probably even left, and _hell_ did Kakashi _want_ to, but . . . but what? It wasn’t as though he’d never backed out of a conversation like this before, not like he would hold any resentment towards himself if he did . . . but maybe it was time. Thirteen years since the last war, and it was time. It was over, so why hide it?

 “I think you’re right,” he replied, meeting Iruka’s gaze and suddenly feeling the urge to smile. But it was too soon for that. The weight on his heart was still too heavy to smile—and even if he _could_ smile, it would never reach his eyes; the only part of his face that would reveal what he was truly feeling. Maybe there was some emotion there—maybe it was raw, maybe not, he couldn’t say—but Iruka shifted—took a step closer—and placed his arm over the other man’s shoulders.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about everything.” Kakashi replied simply; because it was true.

“That’s a lot to think about,” Iruka said, holding Kakashi’s gaze and refusing to let it leave his face. Kakashi appreciated it—he needed someone that was willing to be strong right now, because he couldn’t do it. For once, he just _couldn’t_ , but he was trying, and it was hard. Damn, if it wasn’t one of the hardest things he’d ever done. The feelings were building up—right in _that_ spot, the one in his chest, between the ribs, where the dull ache had laid dormant for so long.  “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“Do you want to listen?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that. Let’s start with going home first. I’ll make tea.”

And maybe Kakashi did smile then. _Home_ ; and when did home become _with Iruka_? It didn’t matter, because that was home now, even if it was just for today.

“I think I can manage that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
